


Storms of War

by BroadwayBaggins



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-23 06:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6107932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroadwayBaggins/pseuds/BroadwayBaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles depicting the relationship between Nurse Mary Phinney and Doctor Jedediah Foster, as well as the events and staff at Mansion House Hospital</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Convictions

**Author's Note:**

> A missing moment between episode 1 and 2

“I get the impression, Duchess, that you do not hold me and my beliefs in high regard.”

“On the contrary, I hold you in incredibly high regard in terms of your skills in medicine. These men rely on you and you do right by them. It is your morals that I find lacking, in this instance.”

“Ah, of course. Because I do not agree with you, I must be in the wrong.”

“Not at all. I never said that.”

“But you thought it, did you not, Nurse Phinney?”

She bit her lip. He had taken a step closer to her on the landing, looking at her not with scorn or amusement, but rather like he actually wished to hear her answer.

“I…no. But I think…

“You think what?”

“I think that apathy is dangerous,” she snapped finally. “I think that your belief that this war is only being fought to preserve the Republic is fiercely misguided, and that you should re-examine those views. You may not be of the belief that slavery does any real harm, but I can assure you that it does. And your ignorance, blissful though it may be, is only exacerbating the problem. Doctor Foster, if you–”  
She cut off abruptly, looking down at the ground. He took another step forward.

“If I what?”

Mary swallowed, summoning the courage to complete her thought. “If you stand for nothing, what will you fall for?”

His eyes widened in the dim corridor, and Mary turned suddenly, feeling as if she had made her point.

“Are you truly under the impression, Nurse Phinney, that I stand for nothing?”  
She had not expected, after her outburst, for Doctor Foster to dignify her words with a response. His words made her pause, her hand resting on the railing as she prepared to go upstairs. The hospital was just now settling down for the night, and most of the lamps had been extinguished, leaving only the odor of kerosene behind, mixing with the other smells of camphor and chloroform and the faint, coppery scent of blood that always seemed to linger no matter how much the sheets and bandages were washed. Doctor Foster’s words seemed to hang in the air between them, and Mary swore that Mansion House hospital had never been more quiet.

“I…”

“Because I can assure you that it is not true. I stand for the great nation that you and I find ourselves in. I stand for medicine, and the belief that every man should be treated equally, whether they wear gray or blue. I stand for science and discovery and knowledge. I am a man of many convictions and principles, Nurse Phinney, if you would ever care to know. I stand for many things. I stand for–”  
He had taken another step closer, and now their faces seemed only inches apart. Her gaze met his, and his face seemed to soften. “I stand for nurses getting rest when they have earned it,” he said, his tone gentler now. “I feel as if I’m keeping you from your bed. Forgive me. You need a good night’s sleep, as do we all.”

“I–thank you.”

“Get some sleep, Nurse Phinney. I’ll see you in the morning.”


	2. Observations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written from the prompt: "Emma starts suspecting something is going on between Mary and Jed and questions Mary about it."

“He’s going to need these bandages changed again before the two of you retire for the night, and let me know if there are any changes in his condition,” Doctor Foster instructed, wiping his hands on his apron. He stood up, leaning in close to murmur in Nurse Mary’s ear as Emma watched, eager to learn. “Come and find me immediately if his fever gets any higher. It could mean the wound is infected.”

“Yes, Doctor Foster.”

“Good work, both of you,” he told the two nurses, a bit gruff, but then Emma had figured out that that was just his way. He leaned down and put a hand on the young soldier’s shoulder, squeezing it once gently.  
“You’re going to be fine, Corporal Simmons. Just rest now.”

“Thanks, doc.”

With a smile that Emma knew that Doctor Foster had reserved just for Mary, the doctor retreated, going to check on his other patients as Mary began to tidy and put away the instruments. On the bed, Corporal Simmons was already drifting off to sleep, one that Emma could only hope would remain pain-free for a few hours at least. Emma smiled as she saw the way Nurse Mary watched Doctor Foster walk away, a little smile on the older nurse’s face that Emma wasn’t even sure she realized was there.

“Is there something going on between you two?”

Nurse Mary jumped as if she had been slapped, a scalpel slipping from her hand and clattering to the floor. Instantly she knelt to retrieve it, but not before Emma caught a glimpse of her red cheeks, her concerned eyes. “I..I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” Her normally clipped (to Emma’s ears, anyway) New England accent sounded more pronounced than ever.

“I didn’t mean any impertinence, of course. I was just wondering.”

“It’s not…”

“I don’t mean to suggest anything improper between you two, Nurse Mary. I never meant to frighten you. It’s just I’ve seen the way you look at him. It seems to me as if…you like Doctor Foster.”

Nurse Mary’s eyes widened as she stammered out a response. “I…no. That is, I…I _admire_ him, yes, I admire his skills. I… _respect_ him…” 

“No, it’s more than that. The way he looks at you…the way you look at him…” 

Nurse Mary seemed to be growing more uncomfortable by the minute, and Emma wished she hadn’t said anything. Right when she thought that she and the Union nurse might finally be getting along, she had to go and ruin everything again…

“You don’t have to tell me. I shouldn’t have pried–it’s not my business. But…it’s all right if you do like him.” Emma said gently, trying to coax a smile out of Nurse Mary. “It’s a good thing, if you do. There’s nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about. I..I know that you’re still mourning your husband, but don’t you think he would want you to be happy? I know it seems impossible, with all the horrible things we see in here day after day…but there’s still happiness to be had. Trust me.” Emma smiled suddenly, thinking of how Frank had surprised her the other day, how incredible it felt to taste his kisses after months of separation. She supposed she ought to feel a twinge of guilt–after all, here she was with her beau safe and sound, while Mary was left widowed by the old German count or whatever he was, and her sister Alice was dealing with the fact that Tom was now a shadow of his former self thanks to the battlefield…but with Frank home safe and sound, that was all Emma could think of. And if she was so happy, why shouldn’t Nurse Mary and Doctor Foster have that same chance at happiness?

Mary forced a smile. “You are a romantic, I see.”

“Why, of course I am.”

“I’m afraid in this case, you are mistaken. Excuse me.” Her work done, Mary breezed away, and Emma smiled. Mary might not be willing to admit it yet, but there was something between her and Doctor Foster. Emma was certain of it.

—-

Mary leaned against the door of the supply closet, trying to calm her racing heart. When Miss Green had first spoken, she had panicked, worried that she and Doctor Foster should have been more discreet. She had worked so hard to protect his secret, his dependency on morphine and her endeavors to help him, and she couldn’t bear the fact that his career and her place here at the hospital might be put in jeopardy if they were found out. To learn that Emma only suspected of an attachment or attraction between them should have been a relief, but Mary found that it wasn’t. Her hand rested on her heart as she took deep, steady breaths, trying to block out Emma’s words along with the memory of Doctor Foster’s eyes gazing at her from across a patient, the feel of his shaking hands in her own the day they’d amputated his brother’s leg and she’d found him on the floor of his room…the sensation of his lips upon hers…

She shook her head quickly, reaching for the door to pull it open. _No time for that now, Mary. Not when there’s work to be done._


	3. Raining in Alexandria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt, "Rainbow"

It was raining in Alexandria.

In truth, “raining” was putting it mildly. It was pouring in Alexandria, a deluge that had started three days before and kept up relentlessly ever since. Mansion House hospital, usually warm and stuffy, was damp and chilly and more than one of the men had developed a worrisome, rattling cough since the rains had come. Mary had woken, shivering, on the damp wooden floors that served as her bed for the last two nights, and although the hospital was still not _cold_ by any means, it seemed that no fire could lessen the gloom. Not that outside the hospital was much better–the dirt roads had been transformed into rivers of mud, soaking the trouser legs and skirts of those who dared to venture out in the storm, and for once Mary felt grateful that she rarely had cause to leave the hospital. Still, the weather had cast even more of a pall around the hospital than usual, and everyone’s tempers were running short today. Earlier, Mary had witnessed Doctor Hale upset an entire tray of instruments onto the floor, then stomp away without even offering to help clean them up, and Matron Brannon had scolded a young nun into tears for some infraction or other. Miss Green, in a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood, had mentioned that her maid Belinda had wondered if God was preparing for another flood (few people had laughed). The day seemed endless, and it was only just past noon.

The atmosphere of the hospital was so tense that, later as Mary was checking the swelling on an abdominal wound of a soldier from Ohio, she almost fell over with shock as Samuel walked by with a smile on his face. She had scarcely seen him look anything less than morose since Aurelia’s operation (although he always managed a brave face when he came to check on her, which was often) His smile was so contagious that Mary couldn’t help but smile as well.

“What’s put you in such a cheery mood all of a sudden?” she asked as she re-dressed the soldier’s wound. Samuel’s smile only widened. Doctor Foster looked up from his own patient curiously.

“Look out the window, Nurse Mary,” Samuel said softly, pointing. “The sun’s shining again.”

Both Mary and Jed looked. The glass was streaked and grimy, but through it they could see sunlight streaming through the remaining drizzle. Mary gasped in delight.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jed murmured.

It didn’t take long for the cry to go out from the hospital entrance, and soon, nurses, doctors, and servants alike were streaming out the front doors, wanting to get a glimpse of what they had been forced to do without for four days. Those soldiers who could do so ventured outside as well, leaning on crutches or each other and blinking in the bright light. The roads were still muddy and the rain still fell, but for the first time in days, a certain joy settled over Mansion House.

Mary and Doctor Foster stood on each side of the doorway, sheltered from the rain as they looked up at the sky. Faint in some places, but still visible, a rainbow had formed, seeming to stretch from one end of Alexandria to the other.

“It’s beautiful,” Mary said softly.

“It is that,” Jed agreed.

“When I was a child, I used to think that rainbows were a kind of magic. That they meant something good had to be just on the horizon.”

“Not that uncommon of a belief, I would imagine. I felt much the same. Now, of course, I know that rainbows are a product of science, not magic.”

“But surely they can still be a good omen?”

“Perhaps, but an omen of what, Miss Phinney?”

She smiled, the gesture lighting up her face. Doctor Foster hesitated only a moment before smiling as well. “Hope,” Mary answered without an ounce of doubt in her voice.

They stood there a few minutes longer, watching the patients and looking up at the rainbow. Doctor Foster grinned and looked over his shoulder. “We should start rounding them up,” he told Mary. “Of else the Queen of the Crimea will have our hides when she finds out.”

“Just a moment longer,” Mary protested, and he obeyed.


	4. A Cruel Mistress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt: "I have never been satisfied." Set during the week of Jed's "quarantine" to get him off the morphine.

Morphine, Mary was learning, was a cruel mistress.

Doctor Foster had been demonstrating the most distressing symptoms since he had ceased injecting himself with the drug, everything from a loss of control of the movements of his own body to vomiting to bouts of depression and melancholy. Mary had been shouted at, cried to, and endured all manner of bodily functions–not that she much minded, as long as it meant that he was getting better. She checked on him often, monitoring his fluttering pulse, wiping sweat from his brow, handing him a basin just in time for him to heave the contents of his stomach into it–not that there was much in there, as loss of appetite had been one of the first symptoms that struck him.

It almost hurt, seeing that great man in such a state. But Mary kept at it, for she knew it was for his own good.

When he was able to sleep, it was done so fitfully, waking from dreams that left him shaking and sweating once again. Mary did the best that she could for him, relying on all the training she’d managed to receive so far, and trying not to compare some of his symptoms with those who had plagued her husband in the end.

“Does it please you, to see me reduced to such a state?” he whispered weakly now as Mary held a tin cup of water to his chapped lips. 

She blinked in surprise. “Not at all, Doctor Foster. But it does please me to know that these symptoms, unpleasant as they are, mean that what we are doing is working. We are curing your body of its dependency on the drug. I know it’s hard, Jedediah, but you must fight. It’s going to get harder before it gets better, but you know what they say–it’s always darkest just before the dawn.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes, and she smiled. “See, now I know you must be feeling better.”

“On the contrary, Miss Phinney…” He was trying to sit up, his face contorting into an expression that she now knew well. Habitually, she reached for the basin, holding it out to him just in time as he dry-heaved, spitting bile. Her free hand reached out to rub his back gently–a gesture that seemed to help the boys–and he finally finished, settling back onto the pillows with skin now the color of chalk.

“I must disgust you, at the very least.”

“No more than the boys on the ward disgust me,” she said smoothly. “The human body can be a fascinating and–yes–disgusting creation, but do not think that I am repulsed by you. I am a nurse–let me do my job.” She paused a moment, her voice quieter when she spoke again. “You seem to be forgetting that I nursed my late husband, who I will tell you experienced many of the symptoms that are now plaguing you. I promise you that I did not think any less of him for them, either.”

“But his symptoms were not self-inflicted,” Doctor Foster breathed.

Mary closed her mouth. “Well, no,” she admitted. “But his only made him worse, and yours are going to make you better.”

He made a sound that could have been one of either agreement or disdain, and his eyes fluttered closed as he slipped into another fit of sleep.

When Mary returned to check on him later, she found him awake, staring up at the ceiling with glassy eyes. “You left,” he said dully.

“Only to check on my other patients, and make up another excuse to Doctor Summers. And I was caught by Miss Hastings on the way upstairs. If anyone asks, you are suffering from influenza.”

“Influenza would be preferable.”

“I was going to say scarlet fever, but there was too much of a chance someone would come up and check on you. You cannot catch it again once you’ve had it, or so they say, and it’s a common enough childhood illness.” Carefully, she crossed to the room, standing over him to check his pulse again.

“It’s stronger than last time,” Doctor Foster said softly. “I’ve been monitoring myself while you were gone.” He sighed. “All part of the damned experiment.”

Mary lowered herself into a chair, watching Jedediah as he lay there. “How did it begin?” she asked softly.

He glanced at her.

“As any good man of science, it began with a simple inquiry. I had heard about the success of morphine abroad, and wanted to see for myself if it could be used as an effective treatment. But patients, as it turned out, were hard to come by for such an experiment, and I became…greedy, and impatient. And curious as to what the effects would be on an otherwise healthy man. I thought perhaps I could learn by testing it on myself…and foolishly I thought, if it turns out it was not effective as a treatment technique, that nothing would be lost in using it on me instead of a man who it could potentially harm. I thought I would be my own test subject, and use my experiences to determine whether or not it would be safe for my patients. Mostly, Miss Phinney, I was curious. Curious and so very stupid.”

Mary said nothing.

“You see, my entire life I have been thirsting for _more_. More knowledge, more experience, more expertise. I have never been satisfied. And so it was with the morphine. The more I learned, the more I wanted to learn…and the more my body and mind began to crave it.” She swore she saw tears glistening at the corners of his eyes–not the first time he had cried during his quarantine, but the first time it had affected Mary in such a profound manner. “I was never satisfied, no matter how much I took.”

“It’s not entirely your fault,” Mary whispered.

“Isn’t it?”

“If you were unaware of its addictive properties, then no.”

“But what about stopping before it got this bad? Before–”

She reached for him, placing cool, steady hands atop his clammy, shaking ones. “There is no use dwelling on that now,” she said softly. “I don’t know about you, Doctor Foster, but I do not see this as a failing or a deficiency on your part. I see this as a disease like any other–one that you admittedly brought upon yourself, yes, but one that you can still beat. You just have to be strong, and let your body heal. I promise, I will be with you every step of the way. The past is just that–the past. All we can do is look to the future–together.”


	5. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt, "If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it."

“You’re lucky the bullet wasn’t a few inches to the left. As it is, you’ll need to take great care in the coming weeks so that you don’t aggravate the wound, all right?” Mary instructed her patient, glancing up at Doctor Foster across the bed for confirmation that her diagnosis and advice were correct. He nodded.

The man in the bed was a Rebel, a blonde young man of about twenty years old from South Carolina, but Doctor Foster had requested Mary’s help specifically and she couldn’t well say no. He flinched slightly as Mary smoothed the last of the bandages over his abdomen, but his smile never left his face. “I’ve always had a lucky streak attached to me, ma’am,” he told her in his Southern drawl that had become so familiar to Mary in these weeks at Mansion House, although his accent was slightly different from the Virginia accent of Miss Green and some of the other hospital workers.

“I’m happy to hear it, for your sake,” Mary said, somewhat distractedly as she secured the bandage. “It certainly could have been much worse.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice, Nurse Mary. I’ve seen firsthand the horrors of war. Pure hell, all of it. Nothin’ like I thought it would be.”

“I can imagine,” Mary said softly, but in truth she had no need to imagine. She too, saw firsthand the horrors that followed a battle. Just because she did not see the carnage as it was being created did not mean she had no idea what the battlefield must be like.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, Nurse Mary,” the Confederate said quickly, flashing her what he no doubt thought to be a charming smile. “I’m a survivor, just like I said. And it isn’t all bad all the time, not with angels of mercy like you to take care of poor foolish boys like me.” He reached for her hand. “If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it.”

“That’s enough,” Doctor Foster said suddenly. “You need to rest, soldier, not flirt with the nurses. Miss Phinney, with me, if you please. I’d like to check on young Corporal Simmons again.” 

Biting her lip to hide a smile, Mary followed him out the door and into the grand entrance hall.

“As much as I appreciate not having to come up with a response to that Confederate’s advances, you were a bit harsh with him,” she said casually. “He meant no harm.”

“Didn’t he?” Doctor Foster said darkly. “This is a hospital, Miss Phinney, not a dance hall. There is no place for flirting here.”

“The men flirt with me all the time. I can assure you that young Private Reeve is not the worst which I have faced.” At least the South Carolinian had not actually touched her, nor made lewd comments as some of the men had been known to do. “In any case, if it helps him take his mind off his injury and the fact that he will no doubt soon be facing life as a prisoner of war, I’m happy to endure whatever attempts at flattery he cares to throw at me. It’s nothing I cannot handle.”

“You are here to work and heal, Don’t they understand that? Don’t they have any respect?”

He seemed more distressed than Mary had expected him to be, and he sighed, stopping and running a hand through his hair.

“Doctor Foster, you’re not…jealous, are you?” Mary asked suddenly. Her tone was not knowing, or teasing or coy, but rather genuinely surprised, as if the thought had just struck her.

“Certainly not,” he said immediately, but he did not meet her eyes. “I was merely…”

“Looking out for me?” Mary finished, her tone gentler now. He nodded slowly.

“Well, your gesture is appreciated, but I can look after myself.”

“I know,” he admitted, and Mary swore she saw him smile. “Of course I know that you can. I’m sorry, I don’t…I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s been a long day. I suspect that your temper is not the only one wearing thin,” Mary told him brightly. “Now, did you really want us to check on Simmons, or did you just want to get me away from Reeve?”

That brought a real smile to his face. “If I am being honest, it was a bit of both.”

“Well, best not keep Corporal Simmons waiting, then.” Mary breezed past him, taking the lead this time. “And Doctor Foster? You needn’t worry about Reeve–I promise you he’s not my type.”


	6. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A headcanon I've had ever since episode four, "The Belle Alliance." From the prompt "After Aurelia's surgery, Jed finds Mary crying by the supply closet."

She could still smell Aurelia’s blood.

She had washed it from her skin long ago, and changed out of her ruined silk into a gown of patterned muslin, but in so many ways it seemed that it would never truly wash off. It clung to her seeping into her skin and her hair and her clothes, burrowing deep into memories that preferred to stay buried, the thick, coppery scent reminding her far too much of other blood, blood from long ago…

Mary wasn’t sure when the tears began, but once they did, they would not stop. She’d ducked into the supply closet, closing the door discreetly behind her, not wanting any witnesses to her grief as it bubbled up to the surface.

She pressed her hand tight over her mouth, trying to keep in the sobs, holding onto a shelf in the cupboard for support, half-afraid that if she did not, she would collapse in upon herself. Within moments, though, she had done just that, sinking to the ground in a flurry of muslin skirts, leaning up against the grimy back wall and burrowing her head in her hands as she cried for the loss of what she would never know.

She had thought she was being quiet, doing her best not to draw attention to herself, but when she heard the unmistakable sound of boots in the hallway, she froze. The door slowly opened, revealing the unmistakable form of Doctor Foster, illuminated only by gaslight as he gazed down at her.

“I…”

“I thought I heard something,” he interrupted, setting down the lantern and stepping inside the closet, letting the door close behind him. 

“What time is it?”

“Half-past one. The late night revelers are only beginning to return. Whatever is the matter?”

“Nothing,” Mary replied, the lie springing to her lips before she could stop it. She imagined she must look a fright–face puffy and tearstained, hair askew, dress rumpled. Thank heaven she’d had the foresight to change out of the ruined gown.

“Miss Phinney, I believe we are truly past lying to each other in our relationship, don’t you?” His voice was soft, and there was something in his eyes, remorse perhaps for his earlier words of venom.

“We’ve had a difficult night,” Mary said finally. “It’s affecting me more than I would have imagined–”

“Miss Phinney, I realize that Aurelia’s plight is incredibly…upsetting…but do not be so quick to judge her actions–”

“I’m not judging her,” Mary whispered. “In fact, I feel only the most profound and heartfelt sympathy.” She suddenly felt trapped, unable to breathe, and she wiped her tears away as quickly as she could, wanting to escape Doctor Foster’s keen gaze as he watched her, waiting for an explanation.

“I cannot imagine ever being put into such a position as she…and were I to find myself in one, I’m not entirely sure that I would have chosen a different course of action. But that’s…not what upset me.”

He said nothing.

“It’s just…watching the procedure…the state she was in when Samuel brought me to her…It brought up some…unpleasant memories for me,” Mary said thickly.

Doctor Foster stared at her, until in one horrible moment, she saw realization dawning. She quickly looked away. “You…”

Each breath felt like a vice was gripping her heart and lungs, squeezing and squeezing and never letting go. She gave a miserable nod. “I was…with child, once. I suffered a miscarriage.” Her voice was thick with tears both shed and unshed, almost the voice of a stranger. “I know it’s not the same thing, not at all, but just the sight of her reminded me…”

“That’s how you knew how far along she was,” Jed mused. “I did wonder…she hardly seemed in a fit state to tell you.”

“It was a good guess,” Mary agreed quietly. “I was in much the same stage.”

“I’m sorry,” Foster whispered, and just from those two words Mary knew he was sincere. He sympathized with her, but she prayed that he did not pity her.

But then, hadn’t she pitied him, when he was in the midst of morphine withdrawal?

Slowly, as if he were afraid she would bolt, he crossed the tiny room to her and sat down on the floor next to her, leaning against the wall and resting his arm on his bent knees. Their shoulders brushed and she could feel the warmth of his body through the fabric of his shirt, and for whatever reason, it was a small comfort.

“How…” he began, but quickly cut himself off. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean–”

“It was before the war,” Mary said softly, looking just past Doctor Foster, finding it impossible to meet his eyes. “It was winter…I fell on the ice, hard. Flat on my back…it knocked the breath right out of my lungs. But I thought…” Her voice threatened to break, and she swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. “I had fallen on ice so many times before, I thought…I didn’t…”

“You didn’t think anything of it,” the doctor said quietly.  
  
Mary bit her lip and nodded. “I was so sure I was fine. Until I got home later that day, and…the pains started.” Pain like she had never experienced before, cramps seizing her and making her sob like a child in the arms of Gustav and, later, her maid and the doctor…and the blood, more blood than she would have thought possible at the time…

She knew now. She knew just how much blood the human body could contain, but she hadn’t then. And seeing Aurelia had, for a brief moment in time, brought Mary back to that awful day, just long enough to push the memories back down again. Her patient had needed her, and she was more important than Mary’s own grief. But now Aurelia was resting upstairs, and it was all coming to the surface again.

“Were there any…complications?” Doctor Foster asked carefully, and Mary knew he was referring to the unintended consequences of Aurelia’s surgery.

She shook her head.  
  
“The doctor said that it was perfectly safe for me to attempt another pregnancy, but my late husband was…reluctant. He didn’t want to put me in any danger, he said. And then he got sick shortly after…” She sighed, digging her fingernails into the palm of her hand.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Doctor Foster said gently. “There was nothing you could have done.”

“Wasn’t there?” she whispered. To lose them both, so soon one after the other…

“No,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “No, there was not. You did everything you could, just as you did everything you could for Aurelia. No one could ask for more.”

Mary said nothing, but allowed him to reach for her hands, taking them in his own. He squeezed them gently, and she clung to him, drawing whatever comfort she could from his touch.

It dawned on her that despite the many times she had seen Doctor Foster’s hands tremble and shake since she had known him…now, they were perfectly calm and steady as they held onto hers.


	7. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary has fears and doubts in the aftermath of Bullen's death and the President's visit. From the prompt, "We fought for these ideals, we shouldn't settle for this."

Mary was pacing.

After Philip’s death, Jed had finally coaxed Mary outside just in time for them to exchange a few brief words with the President and Mrs. Lincoln, during which they thanked her for her dedicated work as head nurse. (Mary thought she could still feel Anne’s icy glare burning a hole in the back of her head). Upon the Lincoln’s departure, the hospital had begun to settle down, and Mary had been looking forward to falling into bed when a cry had gone up from the kitchen storage area.

Silas Bullen, the despicable steward, was dead.

Stabbed through the gut, so Hale had announced, and Mary had been sickened at the gleam in the doctor’s eyes as he gazed at Jed. Summers had sequestered Jed and Hale in his office since then and was refusing any visitors. Mary was panicked. She knew that Jed and Hale had been arguing about the chloroform–knew, too, that Jed had gone down to confront Bullen. Would the blame for the murder be placed on him? Would her only real ally at Mansion House be taken for her, arrested for murder, sentenced to hang?

And if Jed was not blamed for his death…who would be?

Mary’s makeshift room was once again occupied, but she was far too nervous to sleep. She had made her way to the only place she knew she would find some privacy–Jed’s bedroom. There she remained, pacing enough to wear holes in the floorboards, waiting. Endlessly waiting. Her heart was racing, and every sound from the corridor made her look up, hoping that he would stride in and tell her that everything was going to be all right–but the door did not open, and Jed did not appear.

Mary was suddenly struck by a horrible thought, remembering how Jed had snuck away from the President’s visit to be with her for Philip’s last moments. Had Hale seen him come back inside? Had she unwillingly provided the unscrupulous doctor with the very evident he needed to damn Jed?

But no, the other soldiers on the ward had seen Jed with her, they could surely vouch for his innocence. And if he was blamed, Mary was willing to fight Hale on his matter come hell or high water.

When the door finally opened and Jed strode in, his face pale and drawn and looking exhausted, Mary all but flew at him, her hands gripping his shoulders. “What happened? What did Summers say? You haven’t been blamed for it, have you?”

Jed forced a smile, but it was strained. “You should sit down.”

“Because you were either with me or Summers the entire afternoon, and anyone who saw you confront Bullen knows you left right after, and the men can back me up that you never went down there again–”

“Mary, although I’m sure that nothing would delight Hale more at this  moment than to see me hanged for murder, the blame has not been placed on me. The fact that I was seen either in Summers’ company, yours, or the Lincoln’s during the time Bullen was most likely stabbed has worked in my favor, but more so than that…they’ve found someone new to blame.”

“I don’t understand.”

He drew his arm around her shoulders, guiding her towards the bed. “Sit. This won’t be easy to hear.”

She seated herself on the edge of the bed, and he sat beside her, their knees almost touching. He drew in a deep breath. “Hale is under the impression that Bullen’s body was…relieved of a great deal of money after he was stabbed. How he knows this, I can only guess, but the fact of the matter is, he was robbed.”

“So the motive for the murder was theft?” Mary asked. “Who do they–”

“Mary, they’ve discovered that Aurelia is missing. Along with all her things. She’s gone.”

Mary felt the blood drain from her face. “No…”

“They believe Aurelia killed him, robbed him of his money, and fled.”

“Surely you don’t believe her capable of such a thing!” Mary said indignantly.

“Aurelia is still recovering from a very invasive abdominal surgery, and Bullen had both the advantage of size and strength over her. And even if I believed her to be physically capable of killing him, I would never believe that murder was in Aurelia’s nature, no matter how…deplorably Bullen treated her. So no, Mary, I do not believe that Aurelia is the culprit. But that does not change the fact that she is gone, and Summers and Hale are content to place her into the role of scapegoat. They believe she killed him, Mary. That we know that she did not makes no difference.”

“This is my fault,” Mary said in a horrified whisper. “I told her to go North. I told her…”

Jed took hold of her hands gently to steady her. “You could not have known this would happen,” he told her in that firm yet gentle way of his. “You thought you were helping her. This is not your fault.”

“She will be hunted. Not as a fugitive slave, but as a wanted murderer. What have I done?”

“With any luck, the trail will run cold. There’s nothing more that we can do. We just have to hope for the best.”

“I thought I was giving her a chance at a better life,” Mary whispered. “This is what we’re fighting for, the ideals we’re trying to uphold. We shouldn’t have to settle for this–”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“If I had just waited one more day–”

“Then they still could have placed the blame on her, or on Samuel–he’s been gone long enough that his absence is starting to be felt–or on anyone else who did not deserve it. This battle, Mary, is one that we cannot win.”

“It isn’t fair.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“What do we do now?”

Jed sighed deeply. “We do what we must. We move on with our work. We hope for the best. In a few weeks, you can write to your contacts in Boston–don’t give me that look, I guessed–and see if Aurelia has arrived. We help her the best we can, but we do not let it overshadow the other work we have yet to do. And we hope and pray that whatever Aurelia finds in the North will bring her more happiness than her life in Alexandria did.”

Mary nodded.

“You did a good thing, Mary. I know that might sound…strange…coming from me, but you truly did a good thing with Aurelia. You should be proud.”

“I didn’t do it to feel proud. I did it because it was the right thing to do.”

Jed smiled. “I know.”

They sat there in silence for a few minutes longer before Mary spoke again. “I’m very glad that Hale did not choose to target you, Jed.”

“Give him a few days. I’m sure he’ll find some other way to get under my skin,” Jed said with a slight chuckle. “But thank you, Mary.”

“Do you think she’ll be all right?”

His hands tightened on hers for a moment. “In my heart, Mary, I truly do. And that is what we must hold on to.”


	8. Nocturne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The goings-on of a hot summer night at Mansion House. Based on the prompt, "It's okay, I couldn't sleep anyway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Phoster fluff in honor of the announcement of season 2 today!! Who's excited? I know I am!

In the days following the Lincolns’ visit, hot, sultry summer  arrived suddenly to Alexandria. The normally stuffy rooms were stifling, so much so that Mary had finally overridden Miss Hastings’ ridiculous orders and issues orders of her own that the doors and windows be left open as much as possible to circulate fresh air onto the wards. It hadn’t done much to cool down the hospital, but it at least provided some relief. Mary’s hair was escaping her braids, plastered to her face and neck with sweat as she sat on a bench near the staircase, idly fanning herself with her hand. Most of the lamps had been extinguished and the hospital staff had retired for the night, but she was still summoning the strength to walk up the stairs to her bedroom, knowing that the air there would be even warmer than down here. Perhaps she could just sleep here tonight, propped up against the wall, easily accessible should she be needed. It would not be the first time she found herself sleeping somewhere besides her own bed. Since coming to Mansion House, she had spent nights on the floor between hospital beds, slumped onto a settee in the entrance hall, in the chair in Doctor Foster’s room…

She suddenly blushed at the memory even as her eyes slid shut of their own accord, the exhaustion of another endless day taking its toll on her all at once. Other than the week that she had quarantined him away, she had only spent the night in Jed’s bedroom once, a few days before on the eve of the President’s visit, the night that he had come to tell her about Bullen’s death and Aurelia’s disappearance. They had stayed up talking late into the night, until the candle flames had burned low and the first streaks of dawn had split the horizon. She had woken a few hour’s later sitting on the chair in Jed’s room, leaning over and using the bed as a pillow for her tired head as Jed lay sprawled out like a child mere inches from her. He had woken only a few moments afterwards, looking as bewildered as her to have found themselves in such a position. Before she’d taken her leave, he had reached out to smooth an errant strand of her hair back into place, and his hand had lingered, cupping her cheek just as he had when he’d comforted her after Philip’s death. Mary’s hand had automatically come to cradle his, and their eyes had met in a gesture so full of tenderness that Mary was certain that it was going to lead to something more.

She would have let it, perhaps, if it hadn’t been for the knocking on the door a few seconds later, followed by Miss Hastings’ shrill voice bidding Doctor Foster to “ _Do_  come downstairs and make yourself useful, there’s an amputation waiting with your name on it!”

He had rolled his eyes and offered Mary a smile that was equal parts embarrassed and apologetic before hastily making himself presentable and slipping out of the room. They had not spoken of the incident since, although they were rarely far from each other’s company these days. The death of their patient–her patient, really. Philip was always hers–and Aurelia’s running away seemed to have only brought them closer together, and every day Mary was running out of reasons to be concerned about what that might mean.

She sat there for a minute, her head resting against the damp wallpaper behind her, her eyes closed. The hospital was never truly quiet, not even at night, and her feeble attempt at sleep was accompanied by the occasional creak of a floorboard on the upper floors, a soft moan from one of the men on the wards, several choruses of snorers, and the ever-present hums and chirps of crickets and cicadas outside. Some nights, Mary found the noises comforting, these small reminders that she was not alone. Tonight, however, the noises were only a hindrance, and at the sound of approaching footsteps her bleary eyes popped open.

“Mary.”

Jed stood before her, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, his vest having been discarded in the heat. He looked about as exhausted as she felt. “Forgive me. I didn’t know anyone was still down here.”

“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

“The heat can be difficult to get used to,” he agreed, sitting beside her. “I remember many a summer when I was a boy, slipping down to the cellar at night to try to get a bit of blessed relief.” He chuckled once. “I’m sure you can imagine how my mother felt about that.”

Mary smiled at his memory, but shook her head. “It isn’t just the heat.”

“Are you worried about Aurelia?”

She nodded slowly. “And the fact that Mr. Bullen’s true killer has not yet been identified…and that tunnel down cellar has been weighing heavily on my mind also. Do they truly think it was part of some plot to attack the President?” 

The tunnel had been discovered the day after Lincoln’s visit, and had been a popular topic of gossip ever since. Mary was shocked that no one had reported it to the papers yet–Summers’ doing, she supposed.

“It’s a possibility. Or there could be some other explanation. The important thing is, no one was hurt. If there was a plot, it was over before it could begin.”

Mary nodded.

“I wrote to Philip’s wife today,” she told him after a moment. “I wanted to right away, but every time I sat down to pen the letter, something would come up. I finally had a spare moment today.” She swallowed. “It should be headed her way as we speak.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That her husband was very brave, even at the end. That she married a good man, and that he loved her until his last.”

“You were a good friend to him.”

“I try to be a good friend to all of them, if I can.”

Jed smiled, a soft, tender smile that she knew well enough by now to know that he reserved only for her. “I know you do.”

They fell silent for a moment, listening to the sounds of the hospital settling in for the night. Out on the street, a single horse and wagon clopped by. One of the men began a tearful rendition of _The Battle Hymn of the Republic_ , only be shushed by a passing orderly.

“Corporal Simmons is going home tomorrow,” Mary said after a moment. Jed had shifted his body so their shoulders were touching. “Doctor Hale cleared him this morning,”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jed make a face. “So he’s poaching my patients now, I see.”

“His wound has healed nicely and he shows no further sign of infection. He’ll be leaving for Philadelphia to convalesce at home while the Army decides if they’re going to need his services again.” She paused. “For his sake, I hope they do not.”

“They’re saying it will be over by Christmas,” Jed remarked. “Of course, that’s what they said last year, too.”

“I think we both know that it will drag on far longer than that.”

“Unfortunately, we do.”

Another quiet moment passed between them. Mary stifled a yawn.

“You should rest,” Jed told her gently.

“Just a minute more. I don’t want to go upstairs.”

“Shall I sing you to sleep?” he asked with a chuckle.

“You sing?”

“You’d be surprised to hear that it is one of my many hidden talents.”

“Perhaps you should demonstrate sometime.”

He smiled. “Perhaps I will.”

In the hall, the clock chimed midnight. Mary’s head slowly drooped, resting on Jed’s shoulder as her breathing became calm and even. He looked down at her, watching as sleep smoothed out the worry that so often adorned her face these days, watching as the lullaby of the hospital began to do its work.

In a moment, he would wake her. He would tell her that they couldn’t spend the night here and expect to be fit to work in the morning (he could already imagine the stiff necks and aching backs), he would walk her to her room and bid her goodnight. He would retire to his own room and try not to smile at the memory of her sleeping face, resting on his shoulder as if she had not a care in the world, as if there was no place else she would rather be.

In a moment, he would wake her. But for now, Jed was going to let Mary sleep.


	9. Love and Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary writes to a soldier's sweetheart, entreating her to come to him before it is too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This "drabble" took on a mind of its own! Thank you to ultrahotpink for betaing this for me, and klarinette49 for indulging the Downton Abbey fan in both of us by requesting this prompt! I hope I did it justice!

_Dear Miss Rodgers,_

_~~I regret to inform you~~ _

_~~You do not know me, but~~ _

_~~I am writing to tell you~~ _

_~~I am.~~ _ _.. ~~My name is~~_

Mary gave an irritable sigh and scribbled out another line of her letter, looking from the page to the boy wheezing on the bed. Nineteen years old, from Tennessee, with sandy brown hair and wide grey eyes, bloodshot and glassy from pain and morphine. He had a dimple that bit into his cheek whenever he smiled, which, so far, Mary had only seen once, and Mary was certain that before the war he had been considered an extremely good-looking boy back home. He had presented with what seemed like a simple gunshot wound upon arrival at Mansion House but had quickly deteriorated once Mary and Doctor Foster had treated him initially. Unbeknownst to the good doctor, the boy had suffered a second gunshot wound--his body having been too covered with blood and dirt and other filth to locate the entry wound at first--and the bullet had lodged in his lung, for there was no exit wound that they could locate. To try to find it now, Doctor Foster feared, would be too risky and only put the boy through unnecessary pain. Day by day, the two of them had watched him deteriorate as his breathing became more labored and infection set in. Lung injuries were gruesome things, long and cruel and painful, and earlier that morning after Jed had examined the young soldier, he had taken Mary aside and whispered, “If he has any family that we can send for, then we should do so without delay.” 

A look had passed between them, one that Mary had seen far too often on Jed’s face since coming to Mansion House. It was a look that told her, without words, that nothing more could be done. She could see the pain and guilt etched in his eyes, and she knew the same feelings must be reflected in her own, as well. 

She kept waiting for it to get easier, for her mind and her heart to become accustomed to the presence of death that hung over the hospital like a guest that refused to leave. But it never did. Having Jed there was a small comfort, knowing that he, too, shared her grief and helplessness, but it did not dull the pain as much as Mary would have liked.

Mary had nodded, going back to the soldier’s side, stroking his hair and talking gently with him as she’d asked him about his family. Her heart had broken when he had explained that there was no family that she could contact--he was an orphan, an only child, and had no surviving relatives that he was aware of. The only person he had in this life, he’d told her through shuddering, wheezing breaths that made Mary feel like someone was squeezing her own lungs, was his sweetheart, a girl with whom he had grown up and fallen in love.

He had smiled as he’d spoken of her, the memory lighting up his pale, drawn face. “My Sarah,” he’d murmured in his Tennessee drawl. “My sweet Sarah. I should like to see her...one last time.” 

Slowly, each word punctuated by a wheeze more painful-sounding than the last, Mary had gotten the information that she needed from the boy so that she could write to his sweetheart. From time to time, his mind had seemed to slip away from him in his haze of pain, taking him the hills of Tennessee instead of the stuffy wards of the hospital, and Mary had struggled to bring him back to reality. She now knew far more about Sarah Rodgers than she had ever expected, from the color of her hair and how she baked the best blueberry pie in the county to the fact that she, too, was an orphan who had been brought up by a sister after their parents had died. Eventually, Private Thompson had slipped into a troubled, morphine-induced sleep, and now Mary sat with the enormous task of telling an eighteen-year-old girl that the boy she loved was dying.

She looked back at the letter and started again.

_~~Dear Miss Rodgers~~_   _Dear Sarah,_

_My name is Mary Phinney, and I am the Head Nurse at Mansion House Hospital in Alexandria, Virginia. You will no doubt be surprised to hear from me, a Union nurse in Union-occupied territory, but the matter that I write to you of is one of urgency. I am writing to inform you that Private Levi Thompson of the 4th Tennessee volunteers has been wounded at the front. I will be honest with you when I say that his prognosis is not good, and as I understand that the you are quite close, I urge you to come to Alexandria as soon as you can. It would make Private Thompson very happy to see you once again, if it is at all possible._

She paused and tapped her pen against the paper, thinking hard, recalling the stories that Levi had shared with her about Sarah, the look that had appeared on his face when he’s spoken of her, finally tranquil for the first time that Mary could remember. 

_I realize that this is a lot to take in, but I urge you not to hesitate. I can tell that Private Thompson cares for you deeply, and I suspect from what I have heard that you feel the same. I hope you do not mind that Private Thompson has divulged this information to me, for speaking of you has made him happier than I have seen him since his arrival at Mansion House. I realize that I am nothing but a stranger to you, Sarah, but believe me when I tell you that I know only too well the pain of not being able to properly say goodbye to a loved one._

Her pen hovered over that last sentence, her fingers itching to cross it out. It was too personal, too informal, too much like she was laying herself bare for a girl she had never even met. But as Levi gave another shuddering wheeze in his sleep and Mary thought of that bullet in his lung, about the time that he might never get to have with the girl that he loved, she decided to keep it.

  _I will be sending this letter with the fastest messenger I can find in the hopes that it will reach you quickly. Please do not think me presumptuous when I say that I am also enclosing money for you with this letter. It can be used either for your journey or to pay for a telegram, should it be impossible for you to make it to Alexandria. In the meantime, please pray for our dear Private Thompson, and know that he misses you terribly and seeing you would do a great deal towards lifting his spirits. I will not mince words when I say that he does not have much time. Please come, if you can. I hope to see you in Alexandria soon._

_Respectfully yours,_

_Mary Phinney._

She stood up to mail the letter before she could change her mind, and sent a telegram too, for good measure.

* * *

 

Miss Sarah Rodgers was just as Private Thompson had described her, tall and willowy, with a freckled face and strawberry-blonde hair. Her traveling dress was slightly dusty and she looked far older than her eighteen years, sorrow leaching away at her youth as it was for so many young women like her. However, the moment Mary had taken her to see Levi and her eyes had alighted on the boy that she loved, Sarah’s entire being had lit up, a smile springing to her face despite the horrid circumstances as she had rushed to his side without another word to the good nurse. Mary and Jed hung back, exchanging a look and a smile as Sarah sat gently on the edge of Levi’s bed, cradling his pale face in her hands, kissing his brow, whispering to him that everything was going to be all right, that she was here now, that she was here with him…

The days that had passed since Mary had sent the letter had been a blur. Private Thompson had taken a turn for the worse, pneumonia settling in his ruined lungs, making each breath rattle and tear at his throat. Mary had sat up with him at all hours of the night, sometimes with Jed, sometimes on her own, offering him water, mopping his brow, promising him that Sarah was on her way, that he just had to hold on for her a little while longer. Hearing this always brightened the boy’s spirits, and his body would rally with the hope that he might see his girl one last time. The fact that he had lasted long enough to see her at all, Mary thought, was a miracle. More than once, she had been certain that Sarah would be too late, but now here she was, reunited with the boy she loved so deeply. It warmed her heart even as it broke it, knowing that their time together would be all too short, and she suddenly felt as if she were encroaching on a private moment as she watched the two of them speaking softly to each other, Levi struggling to breathe and be heard, but Sarah somehow always understanding him no matter what.

She caught Jed’s eye and gestured to him that they should make their retreat, and she was about to turn to go when Sarah’s soft voice stopped her.

“Nurse Mary?”

“Yes?”

“I…we’ve just been talking, and…there’s something we would like to ask you.”

“Of course.”

“Is there anywhere around here that we could find a chaplain?”

It was not uncommon for a dying man to wish for Chaplain Hopkins in his final moment, whether it was to hear a last confession or offer a few words of Scripture or even a hand to hold. Hopkins administered to men of every faith, and often stretched himself far too thin, but Mary had the distinct feeling that he would be eager to help with whatever Sarah and Levi needed, no matter how busy he was. “Yes, of course. What is it you—“

“We’d like to be married,” Levi whispered, squeezing Sarah’s hand. His voice was weak and rasping, but Mary had never heard him sound more determined. Sarah patted his hand and nodded, looking up at them imploringly as Levi continued. “If...if we can.”

“I…”

“Please, Nurse Mary,” Sarah entreated. “You worked so hard to get me here, and I’m so grateful to you for that. Please, help us out just this once more. Help us be able to spend our last hours together…as husband and wife. The way we should have done, if not for the war.” Sarah’s eyes were filled with tears and her voice was thick, but the smile on her face was as radiant as any bride. “I love this man. I want to marry him. I want our last memories together to be happy ones. Please, Nurse Mary.”

When Mary looked at Jed, it seemed he, too, was pleading for her to acquiesce.

New determination filled her as she nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *

 

“Remind me never to underestimate Emma Green,” Mary whispered to Jed some time later, and he bit his lip to hide a smile.

As soon as Mary had spoken to Chaplain Hopkins and Miss Green had learned that there was to be a wedding at Mansion House, she had thrown herself into makeshift preparations, making herself useful in any way that she could. She had fashioned Sarah a small bouquet of wildflowers and used the rest to decorate Sarah’s bonnet and Levi’s bed for the occasion. Emma and Mary also sported one flower each, pinned to their dresses above their hearts, to make them part of the ceremony. A clean uniform jacket was found for Private Thompson to wear, so that he, too, could be married in his Army best, and Sarah had had the foresight to pack her best church dress for her visit—she and Mary had exchanged a look when she had announced this, and Mary had known in that moment that the younger woman had suspected that this might be a possibility upon her arrival. Sarah Rodgers, it seemed, was not only pretty and kind, but clever and perceptive as well. Emma had even sent a messenger round to her house and managed to wrangle some sweet cakes and pudding, as a treat for after the ceremony, although Mary very much doubted that any of their party would be up for eating.

With the help of some contraband friends of Samuel’s who remained at Mansion House, Levi had been moved from his bed on the ward to a cot in Chaplain Hopkins’ makeshift chapel—a move that had raised a few eyebrows and caused both Doctor Hale and Miss Hastings’ hackles to raise, but aside from a few muttered comments and dark looks, none of them had protested the makeshift wedding, or if they had, Mary had not heard of it. Perhaps they had found it in their hearts to take pity on this poor boy who just wanted one chance at happiness before he was called to meet his Maker…or perhaps they both realized that this was simply a battle that they did not want to fight. Once, Mary had even caught Hale standing in the doorway as she and Emma worked to decorate the little chapel, his mouth open as if he wanted to offer his help before he had snapped it shut and strode away.

Miss Green had done the lion’s share of the work in putting the hasty ceremony together, but Doctor Foster had made his own contribution when he had reached into his pocket and handed over a small, simple ring of carnelian to the bride-to-be. Sarah had blushed and shook her head, stammering that it was far too much, too generous, but Doctor Foster had not taken no for an answer, and the ring had been handed over to Chaplain Hopkins for safekeeping until the time came for it to be placed on Sarah’s finger.

“It was meant to be a present for my mother,” Jed had explained softly to Mary when he had noticed her questioning look. “Before…” He had trailed off. “But I know that it is going to a much more worthy bearer now.”

“Jedediah…” Mary had breathed, utterly touched. Before she had had any chance to continue, though, Chaplain Hopkins had cleared his throat and smiled, indicating that the ceremony was about to begin.

Mary did not pay much attention to the ceremony itself. Hopkins’ voice had flitted in and out of her ears as she had stood there, hands folded primly before her, and watched Levi and Sarah as they took their vows. Levi’s hands trembled and she could see the blue veins beneath his translucent skin. At one point, he had started to cough so wretchedly that the chaplain had had to stop and offer him water before continuing. But despite it all, Levi had summoned the strength to sit upright in his bed, and the look of happiness and contentment on his face as he gazed as his bride was such that, if you ignored his pallor and the cot he sat on, a passerby might not have seen a single difference between him and any other joyful groom on his wedding day. Sarah, likewise, was exquisite, practically glowing, the perfect picture of happiness, although her voice did tremble a bit as she spoke her vows, particularly when she promised to love Levi _“til death do us part.”_ Levi’s vows were slower going, spoken in a whisper that Mary sometimes had to strain to hear, but there was not a doubt in any of their minds that he meant every word of them.

Mary’s focus shifted from the happy couple for just a moment as she felt Jed take a step closer to her, standing at her side as Levi slid the ring onto Sarah’s finger, gently caressing her skin as he did so.

And just like that, the chaplain pronounced them married, and those assembled burst into quiet applause as Sarah leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to Levi’s lips. As Mary looked around, she swore that she did not see a dry eye in the little room.

“We should give them a moment,” Chaplain Hopkins announced, and Emma threw a small handful of flower petals into the air to shower the newlyweds. They had smiled and blushed, even daring to kiss once more as Hopkins did his best to usher everyone out of the room. Mary could not help but notice the hand that he put on the small of Emma’s back as he led her away, the younger nurse turning around to promise the couple that she would bring the cakes for them in just a few minutes. Jed followed, offering his congratulations and brushing off Sarah’s profuse thanks for the ring with a smile and a blush. Mary was the last to go, lingering in the doorway, watching as Sarah brushed Levi’s hair back from his forehead and he clutched her hand as though he never wished to be parted from her.

“Nurse Mary,” he rasped just as she turned to go. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she replied quietly. “Congratulations.” Sarah looked up and mouthed her own thanks as Mary carefully closed the door behind her.

“It was a beautiful ceremony, such as it was,” said a voice in Mary’s ear. She did not have to turn to look at Jed to know that he was now once again standing beside her. “It’s been quite some time since I have seen so radiant a bride.”

“It was beautiful,” she agreed.

“I think having her here has given him hope.”

“Sarah seems a truly special girl. They’re lucky to have each other.”

“That they are. It’s rare to see a love like that in one so young.”

“Is it?”

Jed shrugged. “In my experience, yes. But this was truly lovely to behold.”

“And now she will be a war widow at eighteen,” Mary whispered softly.

“I daresay this war will make many more young widows just like her, before the end,” Jed agreed, his voice gentle.

“Is there really nothing to be done for him?” she voiced suddenly, looking up at him through her lashes. “No...no miraculous procedure you’ve read of in some obscure medical book, no course of treatment that you observed being done in Paris or Berlin? Nothing that could save him?”

“Mary.”

“I know,” she said with a sigh. “I know.”

“You’ve done well, Mary. Your letter made it on time. You brought Miss Rodgers here. This is your doing.”

“Mrs. Thompson, now,” Mary corrected quietly.

A tiny smile flickered over his face, and he nodded. “Mrs. Thompson. Forgive me. You did a wonderful thing for them.”

“I had help. Miss Green was indispensible, and Chaplain Hopkins, of course, and you giving them the ring…that was lovely, Jed.”

He shrugged off her words, but a faint smile tugged at his lips. “At least we were able to give them some measure of happiness before the end.”

Mary nodded in agreement. “At least she will be here with him. That is...some comfort, at least.” Jed looked over just in time to see her gaze slip to the floor, that familiar mask that he knew so well by now slipping in place over her face as she battled her own sorrows, and he knew that she was thinking of her own husband.

“Mary,” he said gently, reaching over and taking her hand in his. They had touched like this so many times before, but it never ceased to both thrill and comfort Mary, the small yet intimate sensation of another hand in hers. Gently, he ran his thumb over the skin at the back of her hand, roughened by her work as a nurse. She slowly placed her hand over his, so that she was clasping his hand in both of hers, and they stood there for a long moment, not speaking, just gazing at each other and enjoying this quiet moment.

“We did something good,” she told Jed decisively.

“Yes, we did, Mary. Yes we did.”

* * *

 

Private Levi Thompson lingered a full day after his wedding, after which his condition took a sharp turn for the worse. He lost his appetite and refused both food and water, and speaking soon became too much for him as he struggled valiantly to bring breath into his failing lungs. When he finally breathed his last, around midnight, his wife was by his side, holding his hand and stroking his brow, whispering softly to him the sweet nothings of newlyweds. Mary held his other hand, Jed standing close by her side, so close that the two of them could hear Levi’s last words as he whispered in his new wife’s ear.

“Take your time, Sarah, my love. I’ll see you again some day.”

A quarter of an hour later, he was gone, the horrible rattle in his lungs gone, his face peaceful again as he lay there with his eyes closed. Sarah’s lips trembled as she leaned over to kiss him, once on the lips and once on his forehead, and Mary felt Jed’s hand on her shoulder as they watched, unsure whether to stay or go.

“Thank you, Nurse Mary,” Sarah murmured, looking up at her with a face not full of sorrow, but of relief that her husband’s painful fight was finally done, relief that he was at peace now at last. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Later, when Jed and Mary had given Sarah a moment alone to say goodbye before Levi’s body was moved, they sat on their bench together in silence. Chaplain Hopkins had escorted a tearful Emma to the front hall to be comforted, and the two were left alone as the hospital settled down for the night all around them. Jed had wrapped one arm around Mary’s shoulders, drawing her close to his side, and she had leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder, breathing in his scent, not saying a word as they sat there, for there was nothing that either of them could say.

They remained in that embrace for a long time, until the clock chimed again, until they could no longer hear Sarah’s sobs from the chapel, neither one of them wanting to be the one to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, Ma, I researched this one! My information on lung injuries mostly came from a message board, believe it or not (oh, my history teachers are all screaming at me right now) but also taken partially from http://history.amedd.army.mil/booksdocs/wwii/thoracicsurgeryvolI/chapter1.htm which was very helpful. I did briefly research wedding traditions during that period but I couldn't find a whole lot of definitive information on the specific questions that I had, hence why Sarah wears her bonnet instead of a veil and why no specific vows are really listed (I did learn that the "something old something new something borrowed something blue" tradition comes from the latter half of the Victorian period, which is why I didn't use it here, although I did plan to originally. Carnelian is a red gemstone that was popular during many periods including the Civil War (I feel as if Amy March might have even owned one although I might be getting confused with some other book). I thought it was a different gemstone that wasn't too opulent or expensive for Jed to just give away like he did.
> 
> And of course, Levi and Sarah's story is lovingly inspired by Daisy and William Mason on Downton Abbey, although I have done my best to make them my own. I hope you enjoyed!


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